Dragonskin
by Super Widget
Summary: After the Civil War, Ulfric finds himself spending his time and resources eradicating the last of the Imperial army. However, his duties as Jarl have been neglected and Windhelm falls into deeper and deeper poverty. Ulfric needs to be stopped and there is only one woman who can take his place as high ruler of Skyrim. But how can a couple of thieves convince her to do so?
1. The Heist

_**Author's Note: The story will be in first person when it's in my OC's perspective, third person for other characters. This is my first Skyrim fanfic. Please be nice.**_

It was midnight. A few miles outside of Riften, a single horse-drawn carriage tottered lazily along the cobbled road. From the wooded area beyond, Brynjolf observed the vehicle, calculating the value of the contents of the chest it carried. The passenger was a Nord woman that he recognised to be Jarl Gray-Mane's right hand. He had noticed her presence in Riften while she consorted with the Black-Briars. He had no interest in her affairs with the elite, he just wanted whatever was in that chest. A woman of her status was sure to be carrying something valuable.  
His associate, a young Khajiit named Wadargo, was poised in a tree above with a bow and arrow aimed at the passing carriage. Brynjolf knocked twice on the trunk, giving the signal. The arrow sliced through the air and hit the driver in the side of the neck causing him to fall off his seat and onto the ground. Brynjolf's features twisted in anger.  
"Hit the horse, not the horseman, you fool!" he hissed, but the Khajiit had already pounced on the carriage taking the passenger by surprise. He sighed, rushing out from his cover to grab the now panicked horse's reins. He struggled to control the animal and regretted he hadn't a large enough weapon to put it down. He couldn't risk losing the carriage so he tried detaching it from the animal.  
Brynjolf wasn't sure what was happening between Wadargo and the woman but there seemed to be a struggle of sorts. There came the flash of a frost spell, a cry of pain from Wadargo and the heavy thump of his body hitting the ground. Before he could fully register the situation he was in, the woman had sprung to the driver's seat and sent Brynjolf stumbling backwards to the cobblestone with a swift kick to the chin. He landed heavily on his tailbone and watched through a spinning view as the carriage rushed passed him and beyond.  
"Damn," he said, wiping blood from his chin and wincing from the pain in his lower back. He could then hear the singing of a healing spell near him. Wadargo was lying on his back where he had fallen, one blood stained paw glowing a healing spell over what appeared to be a stab wound. Brynjolf approached him, concerned for the Khajiit's life. He was only a young Khajiit, barely into the years of adulthood and one of the newer members of the Thieves Guild. This was his first proper heist and it had all gone terribly wrong.  
"Wadargo," Brynjolf said, "Are you alright? Speak to me, lad." The Khajiit gave a weak smile, his breathing shallow.  
"I don't understand," he said, his silken voice broken with pain, "That ice spike should have killed her."  
"It was just a mistake, lad," said Brynjolf, searching his satchel for a healing potion, "Can you make it back to Riften? Will you need to be carried?"  
"No," the Khajiit sat up, concern crossing his feline features, "It should have killed her. I've seen Bretons with some powerful Dragonskin abilities but not as powerful as hers."  
He suddenly had Brynjolf's interest.  
"But she's a Nord," he said, "Isn't she?"  
"Half Nord," Wadargo replied, checking his wound, "I could smell the Breton in her blood."  
"Now that is interesting," Brynjolf mused to himself, "A half-blood Breton should only have half to ability of a full-blood."  
"She's stronger than a full-blood. She resisted my magic like nothing I have ever seen. It was like throwing water at a stone wall."  
The gears in Brynjolf's head began to turn. He had heard folk tales when he was a boy of people who were completely impervious to magic or anything from the realm of Aetherius. They were known as the True Mortal, borne of the earth and independent from the influence of the divine or the other-worldly. Was there some truth to these children's stories?  
"I had not counted that she may have been armed also," said Wadargo, interrupting Brynjolf's thoughts. He ceased the healing spell, seemingly content that he had healed enough to be able to walk. "I hope this does not affect my initiation into the Guild."  
Brynjolf smirked. Of course, he had almost forgotten why had brought the Khajiit here in the first place.  
"Consider this one a warm-up, lad," he said, "Let's get back to the Cistern so we can talk about our next job." And have a chat with Karliah, he added mentally, who will be very interested in our Dragonskin woman.


	2. The Bannered Mare

It was a noisy and jubilant night in The Bannered Mare, and I must have looked at someone the wrong way because I found myself staring down the blade of a great-sword that was pointing at my nose. I wasn't sure how events had turned to this. I had had a lot of mead this night and my head was swimming with its effect. The bard stopped singing when he saw the sword, and others who noticed the music had ceased also directing their attention to me and my aggressor.  
"What did you call me?" demanded the fierce woman with ale coloured hair. Uthgerd the Unbroken they called her…but what did I just call her? It was obviously something so off-the-cuff that I hadn't realised I had said it. Gods but did I have a lot of mead!  
"You'd be wise to put your sword away, Uthgerd," I said steadily as not to reveal how intoxicated I truly was, "The Jarl doesn't take kindly to those who threaten his housecarl."  
"I'd be doing him a favour," Uthgerd growled, "For what good of a housecarl is a puny bag of bones like you?"  
Her remark rubbed me the wrong way.  
"Put that sword away and I'll demonstrate with my bare fists," I challenged.  
"So be it!" she cried throwing her sword aside. I was really, truly inebriated because I did not see that first swing coming. Her fist connected with my jaw harder than I could have imagined and I was sent spinning. My shin banged painfully against one of the wooden benches and I tripped over it, landing head first. It was at that moment that Stormcloak guards burst through the door. The publican - Hulda, with an expression denoting her weary of bar fights, pointed to Uthgerd who was immediately arrested. I was disappointed I didn't get a chance to hit back but I had no desire to make more of a fool of myself than I already had. I stood promptly, dusted myself off as if nothing had happened and grabbed the nearest tankard that contained a little mead that someone had left. I pointed the mug to the bard and said, "Another tune, Mikael!"  
The residents cheered in unison and continued their singing and mirthful banter. I chugged the last of the mead I had, and while turning towards the bar for another I bumped into a tall and very handsome Nord who wasted no time in planting a kiss on my mouth. I glanced up at him with a suggestive smile, my plans for the rest of the night suddenly changing. I took him by the arm and led him towards the bedrooms. As we passed the bar, I dropped a bag of gold in front of Hulda and said, "Sorry about the mess. Hope this covers it." She just rolled her eyes.

In a dimly lit corner of The Bannered Mare, Brynjolf and Karliah sat unnoticed in hooded attire.  
"So this is our supposed saviour of Skyrim?" Karliah said, sarcasm lacing her gentle tone.  
"I had heard she was a bit of a brat," Brynjolf grumbled, a little embarrassed, "but I trust my instincts. And it couldn't hurt to investigate at least."  
Karliah remained silent, increasing the awkwardness between them.  
"We don't have to go through with the plan," he assured, "We can keep Windhelm afloat by ourselves."  
"They're my people, Brynjolf," Karliah replied, sadly, "Stealing shouldn't be their only option in life."  
"Right," he nodded. He stood then and approached the bar dropping a hefty bag of gold on top of it. The publican raised and eyebrow to him.  
"You never saw us here," he said.  
"Whatever," the woman drawled, tucking the gold behind the bar. Brynjolf slid his hand into his cloak, clutching the vile of sleep potion hidden within. He nodded to Karliah who then followed him up the stairs to where their coveted Nord woman lay.


End file.
